


the unquiet grave

by Jemi



Category: Phantom Manor (Ride), Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, get ready to be gleefully slammed into my own post-canon au, rdr fans: can i interest you in spooky yeehaw disney rides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemi/pseuds/Jemi
Summary: all this to say: it was a very strange thing to hear tell of a lost spirit outside the limits of the ghost town’s remains.
Relationships: Melanie Ravenswood/Melanie Ravenswood's Fiancé
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	the unquiet grave

It was a rare occasion indeed when the gossip that circulated in Thunder Mesa contained anything beyond the regular goings-on of its spectral inhabitants. Said inhabitants did, of course, manage to keep things as lively as the dead were able, that much was very certain. But when it came to matters of the world beyond, they were quite accustomed to being kept in the proverbial dark.

Most even would readily admit to preferring it that way. After all, what use did the dead have for knowledge of the mortal realm? There was little point in seeking out a world which one could never properly join -- especially not when that which housed the dead was hardly so lonely as one might have expected.

Besides, it really hadn’t been so very long since their collective existence had shifted from one of oppressive misery to a relative peace. The wounds carved cruelly into the town’s surface would likely take centuries to properly heal, if they ever did so completely. Because of this, its people were largely of a mind that they all had their own problems with which to reckon. Those of the outside world could very well wait their turn to be addressed.

All this to say: it was a very strange thing to hear tell of a lost spirit _outside_ the limits of the ghost town’s remains.

“I don’t know about you, but _I_ think it’s a load of bullshit.” 

Lavinia Rose, Thunder Mesa’s blacksmith, was a woman well-renowned for her lack of patience in regards to the mincing of words. As it so happened, she also possessed very little interest in gossip -- which was rather unfortunate, given that this was, at present, the only thing the rest of the town’s inhabitants seemed concerned with. The sun had yet to have even vanished behind the distant peaks of Thunder Mountain and already, the Lucky Nugget saloon was abuzz with whispers of some forlorn apparition spotted wandering the inhabited stretch of land surrounding the boundaries of Thunder Mesa. 

No one, it seemed, had anything of any particular substance to offer, but such trivial things as _information_ rarely served as any sort of detriment in matters of gossip.

The other woman’s use of vulgarity was hardly a shock to Melanie. She had, after all, spent more than enough of both her life and afterlife patronizing the town saloon to have grown rather accustomed to such things. The sentiment said vulgarity was contained within, however, was an entirely different story. 

“Oh?” She lifted a quizzical eyebrow, her gaze drawn across the table they’d chosen for themselves upon their arrival. “I should think it would be terribly bold for any of us to have stopped believing in ghost stories.”

Lavinia snorted and although the sound itself was a harsh one, her lips twitched in a way that Melanie instantly recognized as amusement. “Maybe. But, that doesn’t mean I’m about to start believing in all of ‘em.” Her fingers - dark, calloused and covered in burn scars - drummed idly against the aged wood between them as she spoke. “If you ask me, it’s just as likely that somebody got it into his damn fool head that we needed a little excitement around here and started telling tales to try and make some.”

“ _Really_ , Lavinia.” Despite her chiding tone, Melanie couldn’t help but laugh. “Must you be so unkind? Surely, you think a little better of us all than that.”

“I think better of _some_ of you,” Lavinia corrected, flashing her companion a sharp grin. “It’s everybody else that I start to get worried about.”

“Mm,” Melanie hummed in acknowledgement, her fingers busying themselves with smoothing out the wine-dark silk of her skirts. “Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it, myself. I’d certainly _like_ for it all to just be hearsay, but…”

Across the table, Lavinia’s expression softened a fraction. “But, your heart’s too good to just ignore it,” she said so matter-of-factly that, for a moment, Melanie only barely registered that she’d been complimented at all. When that recognition did finally flash across her features a half-second later, Lavinia only laughed. “What?” she queried with a smirk. “I _know_ you, Melanie. Of all people, you ought to know best that a couple of centuries doesn’t change that much.”

Not for the first time, Melanie suddenly found herself very, _very_ glad that she no longer possessed the ability to blush. “If I didn’t know better,” she huffed in some vain attempt to hide her slip in composure, “I’d think you and Lawrence both spent all that time dreaming up ways to flatter me.”

“You know damn well that I don’t waste my time flattering anybody who doesn’t deserve it,” Lavinia drawled, leaning in her chair so that it rocked backwards onto two of its legs. From this position, she cast an idle glance around the bustling interior of the saloon. “Where _is_ that husband of yours, anyway? I would’ve thought he’d be back by now.”

“He won’t be long,” Melanie replied quickly, ignoring the faint twinge of anxiety that _waiting_ for Lawrence always managed to inspire. A faint, mischievous smile touched her lips. “Perhaps he’s simply managed to get himself caught up in all this gossip too.”

“Now, that,” came a voice from nearby, “is an _awfully_ uncharitable accusation, Mrs. Ravenswood.”

Turning, Melanie brightened all but instantaneously at the sight of Lawrence making his way towards them, a trio of glasses in hand. “Hello, darling,” she purred, resting a hand on his arm as he approached and leaning upwards to kiss his cheek when he bent to set their drinks down. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lavinia rolling her eyes; but Melanie knew the other woman far too well to mistake the gesture for anything but good-natured teasing.

“It’s not an inaccurate one to make,” Lavinia said, catching her glass as Lawrence slid it to her across the table, once he’d turned to give Melanie a proper kiss in greeting. “We were just saying it seems like the whole damn town’s caught up in whatever all this nonsense is.”

Lawrence flashed her a grin that only had enough decency to be vaguely sheepish as he settled down beside Melanie. “I might have heard a thing or two,” he admitted, leaning back and resting his arm casually across his wife’s shoulders. “Kind of hard not to when nobody’s talking about anything else. But, if neither of you ladies are interested...”

For all her previous uncertainty, Melanie chuckled and leaned contentedly into his side. “No, do tell us. By this point, I doubt there’s much use in trying to avoid it.”

Lavinia did not look at all convinced, but after a moment’s worth of scowling her disapproval, she relented. “When in Rome, I suppose,” she scoffed, taking a long sip of her drink.

“It really wasn’t much at all, if that helps any,” Lawrence confessed wryly. “Apparently, a few of the boys in town were in here this afternoon, talking about heading down to the swamps. Sounds like they made a big show out of wanting to be the first ones to get a real look at whatever’s out there.”

“Ah -- what did I tell you?” Lavinia glanced at Melanie, amusement glittering in her dark eyes. “Bunch of damn fools.”

“I’d hardly blame them for being curious,” Melanie countered, although her tone was just as light as her companion’s. “From the sound of it, I’m sure it was only a matter of time before _someone_ decided to investigate.”

“There’s a hell of a lot of difference between curious and foolhardy.” Lavinia shot the two of them a smirk over the rim of her glass. “Not that I’d expect either of _you_ to know how to recognize it.”

“Well, what’s life without a little foolhardiness?” Lawrence replied before quickly amending, “Or death, for that matter. Keeps things interesting around here, either way.” 

“More so than they ever were in life, certainly,” Melanie agreed wryly, lifting her own glass of amber liquor to her lips.

They carried on like that for a time, talking and generally enjoying each other’s company as the saloon hummed with conversation around them. All in all, Melanie would later reflect, there wasn’t very much at all that would have distinguished this particular evening from any other she had spent in such a way -- in life or in death.

Until, of course, there was.

The sky outside had long since turned dark when the sound of hooves pounding rapidly against the dirt road outside rose above the chatter in the saloon. This wasn’t so very unusual; there were, after all, a great number of spectral horses in Thunder Mesa. But, nevertheless, the unexpected sound was enough to turn a small number of heads in the saloon towards the weathered wooden doors, Melanie’s very much included. She frowned, narrowing her eyes curiously, but before she could ask her companions what they thought of the sudden commotion, the doors to the Lucky Nugget were thrown wide open to reveal a pale, stricken figure standing there, braced in the doorway. 

The doors hit the walls behind them with a long _bang!_ and all at once, silence fell over the saloon. All those who hadn’t turned to look before now whipped around to face the entrance and for a long moment, it was as though the entire building were holding its proverbial breath.

Melanie recognized the figure standing in the door at once. Caleb Abernathy was quite well-known in Thunder Mesa for being the unspoken ringleader of its local gaggle of teenage boys -- a reckless, fiery youth who largely spent his days seeking out whatever sort of risk he could feasibly take in order to impress his equally rash companions. He was exactly the sort that Lavinia would have been quick to classify as a _damn fool_ and truth be told, Melanie had always been rather fond of him for exactly that reason.

At present, Caleb looked less like the town’s wayward daredevil and more like the sixteen year old boy that he’d been when the earthquake that had swallowed half the town had taken his life. From the doorway, he stared at them all, wide-eyed, his skin the ghastly, grey pallor of a spirit far too frightened to keep up the façade of life most of them typically wore. His hair, an unruly shock of bright red against the dark of the night outside, seemed almost to be standing on end and his lips trembled as they tried to form words that were stuck fast in his throat and would not come loose. 

“What in the _hell_ \--” Melanie heard Lawrence murmur under his breath beside her, but before he could finish the sentiment, Caleb himself finally managed to speak.

“ _There’s something in the swamps!_ ” he cried, his voice ringing out in the silence that his arrival had left in its wake. 

That singular phrase was all it took to break the spell. No sooner had the words left Caleb’s mouth than there rose a clamor from the patrons of the saloon so great that he might as well have fired a gunshot into their midst. More than half of them rushed to their feet, all shouting to be heard over one another as they closed in around him, while the rest stayed behind and watched, their eyes just as wide as Caleb’s had been. From within the crowd, a hand reached out, grabbed the boy by his shoulder and all but shoved him onto a nearby stool so quickly that Melanie only received a glimpse of his stricken face before it disappeared into the mass of people he’d been surrounded by. 

Voices rose out of the din, somehow managing to be louder than both the clamor around them and each other.

“What was it, Caleb?”

“What did you see?”

“Caleb, was it that girl?”

“Tell us what happened!” 

It took only a few moments of watching this brewing chaos for Melanie to decide she had seen quite enough. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the ever-growing cacophony as she rose from her place. “Let the poor boy breathe, all of you! You won’t be getting any sort of story from him like this.”

At once, the entire saloon went quiet again, save for the rasp of Caleb attempting, reflexively, to catch his breath. Swiftly and with purpose, Melanie gathered up her skirts and strode to the other side of the room, the crowd parting before her without the barest hint of protest. Caleb’s wide, panicked eyes stared fearfully up at her as she approached, and even across the short distance between them, she could see that he was trembling. 

“M-Mrs. Ravenswood, I--” he choked out, caught between his own terror and the manners with which he’d been raised. “...T-The others, they all left, but I -- I stayed behind and I _saw_ …” He broke off, too overwhelmed by the memory of whatever terror it was that he had experienced to continue.

Melanie hushed him, kneeling before his stool to put their eyes on a more level field. “Collect yourself first,” she told him, her tone firm but no less gentle for it. A reassuring smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “We’ve all the time in the world to hear everything, haven’t we?”

To his credit, Caleb did his very best to return the expression, nodding shakily. After a moment or two, his breath began to even out and that initial panic faded gradually from his eyes. Around them, the other spirits shifted, restless and impatient but kept decidedly at bay by Melanie’s presence. Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie caught sight of Lawrence beginning to rise from where he’d remained with Lavinia, but it took only a pointed meeting of his gaze and the barest shake of her head for him to resettle at the blacksmith’s side. At any other time, she would have welcomed his presence -- but, just now, she was sure that the last thing Caleb needed was another body added to those already around him.

Returning her attention to the younger spirit, she offered her hands, watching him hesitate just briefly before taking them. “There, now,” Melanie soothed, watching with no small measure of relief as tight coils of tension began to ease from his posture. “Tell us what you saw, Caleb.”

Caleb swallowed and drew another steadying breath, his gaze flitting nervously away before returning to Melanie’s again. “I-It was another ghost, Mrs. Ravenswood -- ma’am. A girl, down in the swamps, just like everybody’s been saying,” he told her, his voice quivering still. “Only, I-I think there was something _wrong_ with her. She wouldn’t talk to me when I called out to her. I don’t even think she knew I was there. She was talking to somebody, though, and -- and then, she just started _screaming_ like there was somebody out to take her to a second grave.”

He shivered and shook his head, as if trying to dispel the memory. “I know we’ve all -- seen things. But, I’ve never heard anything like that scream. Not in all the time we’ve been here.” 

A low, disconcerted murmur swept through the assembled crowd and even Melanie, who rather valued her ability to keep a level head in times such as these, felt a sliver of ice pierce her unbeating heart. “..I see,” she told Caleb, only just able to keep her own voice from wavering. “And...was there anything else at all remarkable about her? Did you hear what it was that she was saying?”

For a moment, Caleb seemed to consider this before shaking his head again. “No, ma’am. She was too far away. I only ever saw the outline of her, glowing the way we all do under the moon.” He paused. “...She was young. Your age, maybe. And, I think -- she sounded _sad_ , before she started screaming. Like she’d been crying for a while.”

This, Melanie supposed, ought not to have been at all surprising. Sorrow and unrest were in the very nature of most spirits. After all, what else did most of them linger on Earth for, if not the weight of all that had been stolen from them? She and the residents of Thunder Mesa were quite the outliers in the comfort they’d achieved in their afterlives, of that she was quite aware. 

But even with that knowledge, it disturbed Melanie more than she could have ever said, to think that another spirit in such evident distress was lingering so very nearby. There was no telling just how long she’d been there; the rumors may have only just begun now within the town’s limits, but all things considered, that told her very little. Had the poor girl been suffering for as long as they all had before the curse’s breaking? Longer, even? 

Inwardly, she shook herself, forcing her thoughts to refocus themselves upon the matter at hand. “Is that all you remember?” she asked Caleb, who nodded in reply.

“That’s all. I, uh -- I didn’t stick around for much longer after all that.” 

“I’m sure none of us could blame you for that,” Melanie assured him kindly as she rose to stand again. She cast her gaze around at those surrounding them, taking the barest moment to collect herself before raising her voice to address them all. “This will all be seen to accordingly,” she told them, relieved that she sounded far more certain than she felt about the whole business. “For now, I’m sure it would be best for all of us to leave it be for the evening.”

She knew far better, of course, than to think they would entirely -- but at the very least, she hoped that her reassurances would take some of the burden off of Caleb’s shoulders. Already, a few of the other spirits were beginning to disperse, perhaps sensing that the show, as it were, was very much over. For her part, Melanie offered the boy a final, reassuring smile, settling her hand briefly on his shoulder as she passed on her way to the table where Lavinia and her husband were waiting for her.

On the surface, it didn’t take very much time at all for the evening to begin to continue on as normal. A few spirits lingered by Caleb’s side, both to ensure that the boy was well and to see if they could glean anything else from his story -- until, at least, it became evident that there really was little more to be said for his misadventure. Drinks and conversation began to flow again and, slowly but steadily, the atmosphere in the Lucky Nugget regained its typical sense of lively warmth.

Only Melanie remained quiet and withdrawn, clasping Lawrence’s hand tightly as she half-listened to his and Lavinia’s conversation. For once, there was very little comfort to be found in the familiarity of their voices, nor even in the warm press of her husband’s skin against her own. It was as though the entire world around her had faded to a mere shadow of itself, and try as she might, Melanie could not find her way back into the light. 

It had been a nearly immeasurable amount of time since she’d felt the cold pall of dread settle over her heart in such a way. But, as Melanie gazed into the gathering gloom beyond the threshold of the saloon, her thoughts were only of long, lonely stretches of swampland and the desperate, unheeded cries of whatever lost soul had been condemned to wander them.

* * *

Sleep rarely came to Melanie with ease, these days. 

By now, she was rather accustomed to lying awake at night for hours at a time, listening to the creaks and groans of Ravenswood Manor settling around her. Convincing herself that such sounds were merely the product of nothing more sinister than the house’s age was always something of a process. In the back of her mind, Melanie suspected that no matter how many more centuries of wedded bliss passed her by, some part of her would always be on its guard, waiting for the presence of danger that felt nothing short of inevitable.

As time had gone on, she’d found her ways of assuaging these anxieties, most of them involving losing herself in her husband’s embrace in one way or another. It was, after all, very difficult for her thoughts to linger on the idea of losing Lawrence all over again when he was so very _present_ , warm and tangible and real in her arms. To fall asleep by his side was a comfort that Melanie had spent decades upon decades longing for and now that it was hers for all eternity, not a night went by that she wasn’t immeasurably grateful for it. 

Tonight, however, she had far more to reckon with than the remnants of her days spent languishing under her father’s wrath. Caleb’s story played over and over in her mind like some macabre, half-remembered nursery rhyme, and try as she might, Melanie could not let go of the image of that poor young woman all alone out in the swamps, screaming and sobbing to an unseen memory. It was always present each and every time she shut her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to direct her focus elsewhere. 

For hours, it seemed, she tossed and turned, fruitlessly trying to settle herself in a way that might facilitate the act of falling asleep. It was only when she felt a shifting in the sheets beside her, followed by the warm, familiar weight of her husband’s arm settling across her waist that she stilled, startled for only the barest fraction of a second before realization set it. Immediately, Melanie felt the gathered tension in her shoulders begin to fade as she pressed her back against Lawrence’s chest with a low, contented sigh. 

Her hand sought out his, drawing it upwards and entwining their fingers together. “...Did I wake you?” she murmured to him, her thumb stroking affectionately over the back of his palm. 

In response, Lawrence muttered something that she suspected was meant to be the word _no_ , but it was far too muddled and drowsy for her to be certain. Melanie laughed softly, pulling his hand up to her lips and pressing an apologetic kiss to it. “I’m sorry, darling,” she told him, shifting to make herself more comfortable in his embrace. “It’s nothing you ought to trouble yourself about. Go back to sleep, if you’d like.”

For a time, they simply laid together in the dark -- long enough that, had Melanie not known better, she might have assumed that Lawrence had indeed been lost to slumber again. She very much wished he had. Sleep may not have been a necessary thing for the dead, but it was a comfort that most of them preferred to indulge in nonetheless and she’d never found Lawrence to be of any particular exception to the rule.

Then again, she supposed her attempts to convince him nothing was wrong were doomed from the start. At times, Melanie suspected that Lawrence knew her better than she knew herself; she had never been able to lie to him.

At length, she sighed, turning over to face him. Between them, their joined hands glowed, soft and ethereal, in the light of the moon streaming in through the window behind their bed and for a moment, Melanie allowed herself simply to marvel at the sight. It was a terribly commonplace sort of gesture, she knew, something that most other married couples indulged in without a second’s thought. To Melanie, however, every touch was a victory in its own right -- a reminder of what she had won, both for herself and for the man she adored beyond all sense and reason.

By now, Lawrence was properly awake and despite her regret at having disturbed him, Melanie felt a familiar warmth blossom in her chest as he smiled at her. With the silver moonlight from above caught and shining in his eyes, he was so singularly _lovely_ that Melanie thought that her heart might very tear itself in two at the sight of him lying there beside her. In these quiet moments, she often felt both as though their centuries apart had all but fallen away and, paradoxically, as if she were only just now feeling the full weight of the devotion that had sustained her for those decades spent in darkness.

Neither of them spoke; they hardly needed to. It was only when Melanie’s thoughts began to slowly stray to her earlier preoccupations that she caught Lawrence frowning slightly at her troubled expression. 

“...Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured at length, reaching out to brush the thick curtain of her hair away from her throat. 

“And how do you know I’ve anything of the sort, hm?” Melanie countered, even as she shut her eyes contentedly and leaned into his touch.

This prompted a quiet chuckle from him. “We’re not married for nothing, Mellie. I know what you look like when you’re thinking too hard about something.”

A faint, fond smile tugged at the edge of her lips, but it faded almost as soon as it had appeared. Shifting, Melanie opened her eyes again to meet Lawrence’s gaze. “...It’s that girl,” she told him quietly. “It’s not right that her soul’s been left to wander. Not with all of us so close by.”

“And you’re suggesting...what, that we go looking for her?”

She frowned at him. “Who will, if we don’t? You know just as well as I do what the living do with their ghost stories. None of them ever think to help us, not really.”

Lawrence’s expression softened and, after a moment, he shifted to kiss her forehead. “You’re too good for any of us, you know that?”

“ _Hush_ ,” Melanie chided, attempting to ignore the phantom sensation of heat creeping into her cheeks. Inevitably, it was as fruitless an effort as suppressing her smile was proving to be. “I would have hoped you’d know better than to try and flatter your way out of this.”

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” With a well-practiced ease, Lawrence hooked his finger beneath her chin, lifting it so that they were looking at each other again. He flashed her a grin as their eyes met. “What, a man can’t speak the honest truth in his own home now?”

In response, Melanie hummed a quiet laugh and leaned over to kiss him softly. “You’re sweet,” she murmured when they at last broke apart, resting her head against his chest and allowing her eyelids to drift shut. For a moment, it seemed as though their conversation might end there -- but then, she opened her eyes again to look up at him. “You _will_ come with me, though, won’t you?” 

“‘Course I will,” Lawrence reassured her, his fingers lacing themselves in her curls as he gently eased her head down. “Hell, you could tell me we were headed for the ends of the Earth and I’d just ask when.”

“Mm. I doubt we’ll need to go _quite_ that far,” she replied, equal parts warmed and amused by the sentiment. “...Tomorrow night, then?”

“Tomorrow night,” he agreed, and though Melanie could no longer see his face, it wasn’t particularly difficult to tell from his tone that he was smiling at her again. Mirroring his expression, she shut her eyes and, at long last, allowed the carding of Lawrence’s fingers through her hair and the warmth of his embrace to lull her to sleep.

They would, she suspected, be rather in need of all the rest they could get.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm literally on my knees begging all of you to disregard that deserts and swamps are like the direct opposite in terms of biomes. we're playing with a fictional universe here. just go with it.


End file.
